A former semi-pro skateboarder and current organic farmer/ceramacist/guitarist/singer /composer/historian/poet, Lawrence McDonald formed Bells Of in 1985.

The band started off as a Revolution Summer punk slanted outfit with members of D.C. hardcore bands Faith and Capital Punishment, but Lawrence has always remained the one constant member. It has evolved into something not at all hardcore, but something like song-based free jazz indie-pop. Lightning-quick guitar work, unusual melodies and spoken/sung scratchy vocal delivery comes together as experimental-improv pop music.

BELLS OF... was formed one fine day in 1985 as a music project of Lawrence McDonald.
The project continues to this day. BELLS OF... has begun, and BELLS OF... has no end.

SHORT BIOGRAPHY

Bells Of was primarily the project of Washington, D.C.-based singer and multi-instrumentalist Lawrence McDonald, who debuted in 1992 with 11:11, an eclectic collection of home recordings cut with a variety of guest musicians. His sophomore record, 1994's Two Dos or Not 2?, collected material dating back as far as 1986, with the spotlight on McDonald's increasingly jazzy guitar work; a third Bells Of record, 3's Company, followed. In 1999, album number four, 4 Your Listening Pleasure, was released.- Jason Ankeny, All Music

POETRY

THE FALL OF THE LOMAN EMPIRE

Bob's face had become
Synonymous with the Georgetown Theater
The lines on his forehead
Engraved by decades of disingenuously using the words
"Thank you"
He worked the ticket booth
I was his apprentice
The ticket ripper
He tried
In earnest
To teach me the finer points of being a theater usher
The correct method of holding the door open
For patrons
And so forth
In 1961 he held the door open
For President Kennedy ("And his date--shhh!" Bob said this was confidential)
On Jack's way in to see a live performance of the play
Death of a Salesman
This was the high point of his career
Five shows a day of the x-rated Roman epic
Caligula
Was the current fare
Even so
This was not enough to save the antiquated movie house
According to Bob
The theater
Had come a long way from it's former glory
One winter day
Between shows
He told me the dreadful news
"Gus says they finally found a buyer."
"They're gonna gut this place like a fish"
"And turn it into a jewelry outlet"
"Imagine that"
"The end of an empire"
Bob was getting pretty worked up
I detected a tear in his eye
"You don't even seem to care!"
I just sat there
On the heater
Dressed up in the usher's red monkey suit
Looking through the large glass door
At cars passing by on Wisconsin Avenue
Wishing I was somewhere else
For once
Bob was right

ROOT BOY SLIM

Slim was fat
Obese is more accurate
He said he was a mean lean machine
When he played football for Yale
Twenty-five years ago
Aging gracefully
Did not apply to Slim
People who came by the house to visit
Commented on his condition
"You should drink a quart of orange juice every morning"
"Like my wife and me"
One Root Boy fan remarked
Slim stared at him with disgust
Dare to be fat
Was his mantra
Coffee and donuts
In the morning
Pizza around noon
Power nap afterward
Chinese food
Delivered to our doorstep in the early evening
Foster McKenzie drank Black Label and smoked Reds
All day long
He lived fast
And died in his sleep
A heart attack
At forty-six
The music magazines called him a hero in eulogy
The "Godfather of Puke"
I just thought he was lazy
And fat